


One More Miracle

by Jellicle_Superwholockian (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, M/M, Pining John, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Jellicle_Superwholockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know it's a little late for Post-Reichenbach stuff, but I just got an account. I hope you all enjoy, though it's a little rough. Constructive criticism is accepted and encouraged. <3</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's a little late for Post-Reichenbach stuff, but I just got an account. I hope you all enjoy, though it's a little rough. Constructive criticism is accepted and encouraged. <3

"One more miracle, Sherlock. For me. Don't. Be. Dead."  
John Watson was sitting alone in 221B at the end of what had turned out to be the worst day of his life. After all of the crime solving, all of the mysteries, this had been the most puzzling. Why did Sherlock jump? How had his best friend gone from alive and deducing to falling off of St. Bart's in less than an hour? And the most puzzling question yet; how the hell was John supposed to live without him?  
He didn't know how or why, but John knew this couldn't be real. Every day, he tried to wake himself up, believing this to be a horrible nightmare. Every day, he walked into the kitchen expecting to find Sherlock sitting at his microscope examining whatever horrifying experiment he came up with next. For a while, he still made two cups of tea. He would set the second next to the microscope, beakers, test tubes and slides he still hadn't packed away. Sometimes he didn't pick up milk just to remind himself of how the fridge had looked before... before the day. He'd put on police shows, imagining Sherlock explaining everything that was wrong with them and figuring out the killer before they had even arrived on screen, and got angry when he felt the tears streaming down his cheeks.  
One thing John did that nobody, not even Mrs. Hudson, saw. Every night before bed, John put on Sherlock's coat. It no longer smelled like the consulting detective, but that didn't matter to John. Besides the science equipment, it was the only thing he had left of Sherlock's. He had to fight Lestrade for it; he thought the constant reminder of Sherlock would mentally tear John apart. Maybe he was right, but John didn't care. He needed something, anything, to remind him of his best friend.  
The days seemed to grow longer to John and he grew more distant. He'd go to work at the clinic, talk only when necessary, then come back to Baker Street. He lost contact with almost everyone, and eventually only Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson even bothered checking up on him. Once in a while, he agreed to have a drink with Lestrade, but he still hardly spoke. He stopped eating regularly; without Sherlock going so far as to stop investigations to ensure John ate, he didn't feel the need to. His face became garish, his figure gaunt. His limp returned with a powerful vengeance. He hardly shaved anymore, only when his face got hairy enough to be a nuisance. Everything in his life seemed to abruptly cease once Sherlock was gone.  
Two years had passed and John tried dating again. Without Sherlock constantly stealing him for cases, he thought his chances would be better. The first few weeks were hard: girls kept calling him depressed or desperate. It took everything John had not to see how right they were. But he did manage to interest one woman enough for date two; Mary Morstan. She was beautiful, funny, and intelligent; but every time John looked into her eyes, he missed seeing the galaxies that were Sherlock's. When he held Mary's hand, he missed the strong grip of Sherlock's in his own. Even now, after three years without him, he couldn't help wishing it was Sherlock he'd spent every day with. He'd fallen for Sherlock immediately after they met: his sharp cheekbones, his tousled hair, that faint smell of latex and chemicals clearly from years of experiments, and that laugh. He only ever laughed when he was with John. It wasn't what you'd call a regular laugh. It was deep and throaty and John absolutely loved it. Day after day he wished he could hear that laugh again, and it pained him to think he never would.  
* * *  
On a particularly chilly evening, John went back to Baker Street to pick up Mrs. Hudson - she hadn't been doing too well after the fall. He turned on the lights in the flat and yelled for her, but there was no response. He checked his watch - they were going to be late if she didn't hurry.  
"Mrs. Hudson, we've got to go, Lestrade will be upset if we don't -" The sight before him stopped him in his tracks, and chilled him to the bone.  
* * *  
Lestrade sat in front of a crowd of people, checking his phone for the message saying John and Mrs. Hudson were on their way.  
"They're not coming, just get on with it," Sally said, obviously frustrated and ready to get back to the "real police work." With a sigh, Lestrade leaned forward and began to speak.  
"Today, we mourn the loss of a great man and a brilliant detective. Today marks the three year anniversary of the death of Sherlock Holmes." His cell phone, and that of those around him, interrupted his speech. He checked the message, expecting it to be John. He was surprised to find it came from a number he hadn't seen used in years. All the message said was, "wrong." His heart rate increased slightly as he received a second message reading "You know where to find me."


	2. Chapter Two

"No. No. This isn't possible." For the past five minutes, John had been pacing through 221B repeating himself.  
"You died. You're dead. This isn't possible."  
"It's okay, John," Sherlock said, his voice cold and lifeless.  
"NO, IT'S NOT! It's NOT okay!" John stopped pacing and took three slow, deep breaths.  
"If this is some kind of joke, it's not funny," John said as he looked into Sherlock's eyes. How was he staying so calm? He though he saw a shift in Sherlock's expression, but it was gone before John could figure out what it was.  
"It's not a joke, I'm really here. I'm real. I'm alive." His beautiful, deep voice was soft, almost comforting. John felt hot tears slide down his face and looked down, trying to keep Sherlock from seeing them, knowing he would anyway.  
"I was so. . . lost. . . without you. So lost." John had to bite his lip to keep it from trembling.  
"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock moved closer to John, raising his arm slightly, as if trying to touch John. John stiffened, still not sure this was real. The tears were running faster than he thought possible, and suddenly Sherlock was holding him. He could feel the taller man's pulse elevate slightly and wondered why that might be, but quickly dispelled the thought. All he knew was Sherlock was alive, then it really hit him. He pulled away from Sherlock, seeing his eyes a brilliant blue.  
"You've been alive all this time, and you didn't tell me?!" John could feel anger bubbling inside of him.  
"John, I - "  
"You left me completely alone for three bloody years. Did you even think about how I would feel about this?!"  
Sherlock took a step back, surprised by John's sudden outburst. "I've hurt you" was all he could manage, and even that was barely audible.  
"Hurt me? Sherlock, you destroyed me. I didn't know how to be domestic, Sherlock. I didn't know how to function without. . . " The 'you' that both of them knew was coming yet neither said was louder than anything John had yelled.  
"I'm sorry, John, I didn't think - "  
"No. You didn't think." John turned around, not willing to show Sherlock the tears had come back.  
"John, you don't understand. I had to save you. I had to protect you."  
"Protect me? How the hell is disappearing for three years protecting me?" Just as he stopped, there was a knock on the door.  
"It's Lestrade, should I. . . ?" Sherlock said.  
"Do whatever you want. I'm not involved in your decisions, anyway" John said, walking towards his bedroom.  
"John," Sherlock tried grabbing hold of John's hand. He turned around, eyes puffy and distant.  
"Don't, Sherlock. Just. . . don't." Sherlock let go, watching John walk away from him. His eyes swam with pain he could never show John. There was another knock, followed by "John, let me in." Sherlock took a deep breath and went to the door, expecting the worst.  
* * *  
Through his bedroom door, John could hear Sherlock and Lestrade talking.  
"Good God, Sherlock, you're actually here!" He could hear Lestrade say. "How the hell did you do it?"  
"That doesn't matter, do you have a case?"  
John tried to block them out and started unconsciously pacing His head was spinning, a myriad of questions racing through his mind. Why hadn't Sherlock told him he was alive? How did he survive the fall? What has he been doing for the past three years? And most of all, what the hell did Sherlock mean when he said he was trying to protect him?  
"I'll see you in the morning," Sherlock said.  
"You better be there. I'll be pissed off if this was a dream." Lestrade said, then John heard the door close.  
John was getting increasingly frustrated and finally decided to confront Sherlock a few minutes after the door closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, sorry, but it'll be worth it, I promise! ^.^

When John walked into the kitchen, Sherlock was already at his microscope conducting another experiment. Not quite sure what to say yet, John got two cups down and started making tea. As the kettle boiled, he couldn't help staring at Sherlock. He thought if he looked away, this would prove to be a dream and Sherlock would be gone again.  
"Stop staring at me," Sherlock said without turning around.  
"What? Staring? I'm not . . . Staring . . . " John fumbled and turned his head, embarrassed. He cleared his throat to speak, but Sherlock cut him off.  
"No."  
"You don't even know what I'm going to say."  
"You're going to ask how I'm alive, so no. I won't tell you." Sherlock still hadn't moved from his microscope, which frustrated John greatly.  
"Sherlock, I need to know what happened. You were dead yesterday and now you're living at the flat doing experiments like nothing happened?! Sherlock, I mourned for you. For three bloody years. How can you sit there pretending like nothing - "  
"LIKE I HAD A CHOICE!" Sherlock pushed the table aside, spilling his experiment onto the ground. His eyes burned with anger and pain. He stood tall, staring down at John, who took a step back. Sherlock noticed the fear and confusion in John's eyes and took a deep breath.  
"They would've killed you, John. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, too. And it would've been my fault. I had to be sure you were safe." The anger had faded from his eyes, leaving only pain and guilt, which he quickly dispelled of as John began talking.  
"Sherlock, I don't understand. Was it Moriarty? Did he threaten you?" Sherlock turned away, his shoulders tense. When he spoke, his voice was soft and hoarse.  
"It doesn't matter now. None of it matters. You're safe. You're all safe."  
Before John knew it, he was standing next to Sherlock with a hand on his shoulder. He looked the taller man in the eyes and put his other hand on Sherlock's cheek. He heard Sherlock whisper something that sounded like his name before he closed his eyes and gently touched his lips to Sherlock's. Touching him for the first time just felt so right. Not sure how to react, Sherlock stepped back and touched his fingers to his lips, confused. As if suddenly realizing what he just did, John also stepped back, a look of pure shock on his face.  
"Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I didn't think, I'm so sorry." A moment passed in complete silence before Sherlock grabbed John by the jumper and pulled him into a hard kiss. Sherlock's hands found their way to John's hair as John pulled Sherlock's body closer to his. It seemed as though Sherlock was starving for contact. He pulled John's head back and started placing open mouthed kisses on his neck. John moaned when Sherlock bit his neck then rocked his hips toward Sherlock's. He could feel Sherlock growing hard against him. Suddenly, Sherlock broke free and walked out of the room, leaving John confused and very aroused.  
"What the hell just happened?"


End file.
